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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28535184">A Throne of Bayonets</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dptullos/pseuds/dptullos'>dptullos</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:08:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,189</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28535184</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dptullos/pseuds/dptullos</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Throne of Bayonets</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
<p></p><div>
<p></p><div><p>It was Ezar Vorbarra's birthday.</p>
<p></p><div><p>He had not celebrated in a long time, not since he was a child in the country.  There had been no parties or gifts when they were hiding in caves during the Invasion, and afterwards he had never bothered to remember.  General Ezar Vorbarra had been a busy man, too busy for childish celebrations.  </p></div><div><p>Emperor Ezar Vorbarra had no choice in the matter.  His birthday was also the Emperor's Birthday, and so the Emperor's loyal subjects had gathered to pay him homage.  </p></div><div><p>Sixty Counts stood before him in their House uniforms with bags of gold in their hands, awaiting their Emperor's pleasure.  Ezar let them wait a while longer.  </p></div><div><p>Louis Vormarchand had been smiling when he entered the audience chamber, but the expression dropped away from his face as seconds turned into minutes.  He had been quick to join the rebels, eager to lend his District's strength to the cause.  Louis had spoken often about the traditional rights of the Counts and the need for an Emperor who would heed the Council’s advice.</p></div><div><p>Ezar had listened. Now his valuable, respected, indispensable ally opened his mouth, looked at his Emperor’s face, and fell silent. Louis had often seemed to be a clever man, but this was the first time that Ezar would have named him wise.</p></div><div><p>"Count Louis Vormarchand," he said quietly.  "Approach the campstool."  </p></div></div><div><p>Two lines of soldiers stood to either side of the path, dressed in parade red-and-blues and armed with old-fashioned rifles.  The pale light of the chandelier sparkled on their bayonets as Louis Vormarchand made his way towards the campstool.  The Count was too young to have fought in the Invasion, and he had never commanded armies during the civil war.  Ezar had been seventeen when he had first seen a man torn apart by Cetagandan bombs, and eighteen when he cut an invader's throat from ear to ear.  </p></div><div><p>His loyal Count stumbled over the red velvet of the carpet, halting just before the steps of the dais.  "My Emperor," he said, his voice admirably level.  "Vormarchand brings a gift for Vorbarra."  </p></div><div><p>Ezar said, "Vorbarra accepts Vormarchand's gift."  Relief passed across Count Louis's face.  He made his way up the dais, knelt before the throne, and offered his bag of gold to the Emperor.  Ezar bent down, allowing his lips to turn up in a smile, and took the gold.  It was nothing but a symbol to these men, but there was a time when this wealth would have meant everything to a poor Vorbarra cousin, a distant Imperial relative shivering in a distant country manor.  </p></div><div><p>He bent down over Louis Vormarchand, placing a reassuring hand on the man's shoulder.  Lowering his voice to a whisper, he said, "You have been a good liegeman, Louis.  I will be sorry to have you leave us, but I understand that your health will no longer allow you to serve your Emperor.  Your son will make a fine Count." </p></div><div><p>It was childishly easy to read the man's emotions.  Relief became shock, shock became anger, and anger became <em>terror </em>as Ezar tightened his grip ever so slightly.  The Emperor helped Count Vormarchand to his feet, a generous act of imperial kindness towards a favored vassal.  Louis Vormarchand bowed deeply and backed down the steps, moving like a sleepwalker as he retreated into the ranks of his brother Counts.  </p></div><div><p>Some of them looked curious.  Others were openly fearful.  Most of the faces wore an expression of solemn loyalty.  These men had sworn great and solemn oaths to Yuri once, but Ezar Vorbarra knew what an oath was worth.  He had been Emperor Yuri's kinsman and sworn liegeman once, before Piotr Vorkosigan came to his tent like a ghost from the Bloody Centuries.  </p></div><div><p>"Count Piotr Vorkosigan.  Approach the campstool."  </p></div><div><p>There was gray in his old general's hair now, but his back was as stiff as ever.  He walked between the lines of bayonets like the soldiers were an honor guard.  Piotr stopped at the base of the dais, staring up at the man he had named <em>apprentice </em>and <em>friend </em>and finally <em>Emperor</em>.  There was no fear in his eyes, only cold intelligence and something that might have been approval.  </p></div><div><p>"Vorkosigan brings a gift for Vorbarra."  </p></div><div><p>"Vorbarra accepts Vorkosigan's gift."  Piotr advanced to kneel before him, and Ezar received his gift.  It felt wrong to see the old man kneeling before him, though he had witnessed the same scene a dozen times before when Yuri was Emperor.  Piotr Vorkosigan knelt as though this was all ordinary, as though Ezar was the rightful Emperor and he was nothing more than a humble vassal offering obedience.</p></div></div><div><p>"Rise, Count Vorkosigan," Ezar commanded.  There was no question of helping Piotr to his feet.  "Take your place at my side, General."  The Minister of the Interior backed away instantly, and even the Minister of Political Education gave way to Piotr Vorkosigan.  The Count took his place at Ezar's right hand, with Captain Negri at his left, and Ezar looked out at his assembled Counts.  </p></div><div><p>A man would die slowly for naming him <em>usurper</em>, but it was true.  No Emperor had claimed Ezar as his heir, and the Council of Counts had not gathered to proclaim him as their liege.  </p></div><div><p>Blood had been Yuri's obsession.  Blood had been Yuri's mistake.  He had feared his brother Xav, who carried Emperor Dorca's blood just as surely as he did.  He had looked at old genealogies and theories of inheritance and asked who might lawfully inherit the throne after his own death.  And one night, he had sent his death squads for his own kin.  </p></div><div><p>ImpSec had tried to kill Prince Xav and Aral Vorkosigan.  They had successfully murdered a dozen others, Counts and Count's Heirs and lords of the Vor.  Anyone who might have a blood claim to Dorca's campstool, anyone who might stand before the Counts and name themselves "Emperor" without being laughed out of the Council.  General Ezar Vorbarra had slept through that long night in peace.  </p></div><div><p>Yuri had not truly understood.  He had believed in Dorca's lie of one true Emperor, inheriting by right of blood.  Old documents and scholars and theories of legal succession, all the stories that Vorbarras used to disguise the simple truth.</p></div><p>Piotr Vorkosigan was dressed in brown and silver today, but he had worn undress greens when he strode out of the woods.  The Great General had been covered in blood, none of it his, and the gate guards had passed him through without a question.  Piotr had walked into Ezar's tent as a declared traitor, an enemy of the Emperor that every man there was oathsworn to serve, and not one of them had raised a hand against him.  </p></div><div>
  <p>It was Piotr Vorkosigan who had first knelt and placed his hands between Ezar's.  It was the soldiers of the Imperial Service who had followed him.  Law and tradition had melted away before the oldest truth of all, the reality behind all of Barrayar's clever myths.  </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Emperor Ezar looked down upon the bayonets of his sworn soldiers- Piotr Vorkosigan's men- and promised himself that he would never forget. </p>
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